bloocrab
10-24-2019, 11:04 PM
Trying something different, maybe ya like it...maybe you don't.
Feel free to do something similar as I enjoy reading stuff like this...much better than the poking and prodding that's been going on for way too long.
Expect the unexpected - 10/20/19:
The wheels went into motion the moment I heard Sunday’s predicted forecast, I knew I had to get out there. There was a price to pay though, I had made some promises to the Mrs. …and although I like to wait a little further into November to officially do my fall clean up, she had been after me to clean up the leaves from the two previous wind storms. That being said, I spent most of Saturday doing yard-work...I thought several times about running out to get bait, but with that "right after I finish this part of the yard" mentality...it never happened. That's ok though, bait-shop opens at 6am which is fine with me and as long as the yard looks clean, she’ll be happy.
Late Saturday afternoon, the wife tells me we received an invite from some of her family to eat some fire-grilled sardines accompanied by some newly squeezed grapes....Before I could murmur a word, she gave me that look like,.. "you're going fishing tomorrow, it's the least you could do"... I read it, accepted it and smiled, "of course honey, let me finish cleaning up"...which allowed me time to quietly make a couple of calls looking for a mate who'd be ready and willing. After I found one, we discussed the time and place for the following morning and disconnected.
Wife is ready, off we go... :sled: ....30 minutes later, I pull into their driveway and can already smell the stench of sardines,.. like someone set fire to a barrel of skates that had been simmering in the sun all week. To say one has to have an acquired taste for it would not do it enough justice, but with age I’ve grown to enjoy and even crave it at times. Amazing how age can change ones palate. As tradition has it, this oily forage fish was enjoyed with multiple glasses of purple passion, boiled potatoes, Portuguese corn-bread and an incredibly delicious garlic and oil sauce which got ladled over the plate once ready. The other available sides were home-made pickled onions and pickled cucumbers ... I can't explain what that combination does to a man's stomach and intestinal tract, but my wife’s' given me enough bruises to the spinal cord during the night to know it's not good for the person you share your mattress with.
Waking up to yet another elbow to the kidney, I mumbled some expletive, to which she replied,.. "aren't you supposed to go fishing?"...a bit confused as I gained consciousness, I slowly remembered my actions from the night before. Too many sardines, too many pickled onions, and way too many 10oz. curls of wine, not to mention the other toxins that were shot that night. I must have slipped back into my coma though, because ten minutes later she pushed again while making some type of cat sound.. which finally got me up and at em’. It was only as the sheets fell back on to the bed, that I smiled knowing the aromas I'd left behind. My silent retribution for her elbows.
Now in case you’re an amateur, part of doing yard-work is getting your rig ready for an early morning launch, so by keeping a few lawn tools in the wicked ones sight, I was covered on both ends. That makes the morning a little quicker and quieter. Once dressed, there wasn't much to do other than make some java and head out the door, although it wasn't without me hearing my wife angrily whisper, "My God!" as she tossed and turned back in bed resurrecting what I'd left behind…which only got me smiling again as I exited into the darkness.
Once on the road I touched base with my mate, it always pays to make sure they’re at the dock on time as requested,.. if anyone’s going to be late, it’s the captain. It was still dark out as I crossed the bridge but not dark enough to conceal the glimmer of calm waters across the way. It was going to be a good day. Pulling up to the bait store I could see the light in the back-room shining through the shadows as someone was sure to be getting things ready for the day ahead. My dashboard clock displayed 6:07, so I left the cab and headed for the door. Prepared to knock loudly as I've done in the past, I approached the door but was sadly greeted by a sign that read, "Closed for the season"?? :deer: With a deer in the head-lights look on my face and a sudden emptiness in my gut, I gazed towards the light in the shop and realized that it was only on to deter thieves. I was out of luck! Unfortunately, due to the success of the internet, there aren't as many bait shops as there used to be, but fortunately, I still had a couple in my back pocket. I quickly dialed the nearest shop and had someone answer before the first ring ended. Not wasting any time, I asked if they had crabs. “No crabs”, he replied… the wind storms had supposedly kept his suppliers at bay. Knowing the next shop was quite a bit away, I trucked on toward the boat ramp. My mate was already standing outside his truck sipping his coffee, rods resting against the bed while his back-pack sat on the ground. “Good morning”, he said...to which I replied, “Not so much”. After explaining the situation, he googled the nearest shop, which claimed to open at seven and readily agreed to go while I waited at the ramp. Sometime after he left, another boat pulled up…now I normally keep to myself, but in situations like these, I have no shame. As they pulled ahead of me I began walking in their direction and having had seen their window open, I hooted, “Good morning,…you wouldn’t happen to have some extra crabs that I’d gladly pay you double for, would you?”….Unfortunately, they sang the same tune…they too had stopped at that same place and read the bad news. I then mentioned that my friend had gone to another bait shop and that if they waited, we could get them some. Just as they were considering my offer, my phone rang, it was my mate telling me that this second shop no longer existed, it was now an empty store-front,... sadly another closed bait-n-tackle shop. The other fishermen must have heard our conversation because they quickly moved on to the ramp area and began their launch. I could only think of one other place that was sure to be open, problem was… they were even further away. I called ahead to confirm they had some and was told,…”we have some right now”….which meant they didn’t have a lot. I told my mate,…” this day is going to be too good to give up now”,… so he agreed to the road trip and continued on. While calculating his travel time, I remembered that the week before, not 100 yards from the ramp we had fish slapping and slurping the surface chasing baitfish which would never reach adulthood. Pleasantly surprised, they had stripes…all of them did. Contrary to a few weeks ago, when all we could find were small bluefish ranging anywhere from 2 – 5 pounds. This made the decision easy, I was going to launch the boat and jaunt around. It would also serve to test whether the engine would cooperate or not. I had not told this week’s mate that on my last outing we were stranded for a few hours. Seems I continue to suffer from the mystery curse…engine runs great then hibernates for an hour or two and then mysteriously starts up and purrs like a kitten. We actually called SeaTow…but due to remnants of the past storms, we were asked to be patient as it could take a while. Perhaps when they asked if we were anchored and safe, I should have answered differently…but then karma would have gotten me, as it always does. Fortunately, as we passed the second hour…the engine started and ran great for the rest of the day allowing me to cancel the tow.
On this morning, as I allowed the engine to warm, I strung up a couple of rods with artificials. I’m not sure why, but I always feel like yesterday’s fish have nothing better to do than wait for me to return. Well yesterday’s fish were nowhere to be found. It was as if they were punishing me for launching while my mate had the chore of fetching the bait that I should have taken care of the day before. I circled the area blind casting to and fro to no avail. Not a swirl, not a bump…only cold knuckles from the morning frost. I slowly made my way out of the no-wake zone, I just had to open her up. There’s nothing like that feeling…staring at the horizon as the sun first opens its eye, God’s panoramic palette of colors surrounding me like my mother’s loving arms, to the point where I can’t even hear my engine roar three feet behind me. Mike’s words, “Enjoy what you have” whisper in my ear as I get lost in it all…and for that moment, I’m not lost at all..…I’m home.
Now soaring into the open water, reality strikes as I realize that I had forgotten my wind-breaker. With only a t-shirt on underneath, the cold air was penetrating my sweat-jacket like a sponge absorbs water. As I slowly sink behind my center-console, my portagee anger takes over and I stand up straight, I even step left for a full flanking… taking it all in…punishing myself for my forgetfulness. The wind-driven tears roll past my temples as I fight to keep my eyes open ….open until I’ve suffered enough.
After throttling down, I look around the horizon…I’m hoping that my feathered-friends will help in finding some surface-feeding fish. However, they’re circling above.. as if waiting on me to score first or show them a free meal. There still isn’t enough light to show them the pods of baitfish that must surely be in the vicinity slowly migrating south. Just then, my phone chirps…it’s my mate texting me that he’s two minutes away from the ramp. I had lost track of time and had to speed back…as fast as I could, right into the no-wake zone, or at least until I saw the harbor-master hiding between a set of docks. Unsure if he was watching or not, I kindly waved as my wakes subsided,… no flashing lights, I was safe.
Upon reaching the ramp, my mate hopped in as I hopped out, I ran back to the truck to retrieve my jacket so we could get right out to the ledges. During our passage through the no-wake zone I reminded him of our limit and that there would be no culling on my boat. I was so confident that we’d max out, there was no room for doubt.
The next 40 or so minutes felt like an eternity as I was anxious to see the first set of rubber lips go into the fish box. The trip did not start as expected and it continued to disappoint as the first ledge gave up nothing. The second set provided my mate with a couple of shorts while I remained not only fishless, but not even a tap. We skipped from one lair to the next to only come up empty handed. He finally got a keeper in about 40’ of water, but that was the only fish that came out of the cave that day. As I became desperate, we even targeted the more famous spots, sharing our misfortune with a circle of other boats, most of which were also just giving their crabs a bath. It was truly unbelievable, I’ve never moved so much for Tautog, never had to…but as much as I remained diligent, we continued to be unsuccessful. My mate managed one other keeper while I chummed and sipped what was left of my iced-coffee.
With afternoon commitments, I knew our time was almost at hand. I spiked the rod with the crab in one of the holders and grabbed my other rod. It took some time as I’m a stubborn bastard, but I gracefully accepted the fact that today the Tog would win…and that as easy as it normally is to find them, I would have to surrender. We remained anchored on the last reef as I released a crystal minnow into the abyss while he dropped his offerings down below. Within the second cast, a merciful striper raised my brow as it inhaled my minnow and was carefully released back into the ocean after spending a few seconds boat-side. My mate chuckled as I cast again and again…producing yet another small schoolie. He could read it on my face, I was defeated that day. Then on one of my last casts, something happened that I’ve never personally witnessed before…I got a strike, and although I was using light gear…this fish had me struggling, it was a legal-sized striper. He was hooked close to the end of my cast and stayed deep. I fought him right up until he was below the boat…he kept diving down, strong fish he was. As I managed him to the surface, I knew right away…it was game over, time to go home. This fish didn’t have stripes, nor any shades of silver…this fish was a charcoal grey…with rubbery lips. As my partner and I looked at each other in amazement, I knew at that moment…today was a good day after all.
Feel free to do something similar as I enjoy reading stuff like this...much better than the poking and prodding that's been going on for way too long.
Expect the unexpected - 10/20/19:
The wheels went into motion the moment I heard Sunday’s predicted forecast, I knew I had to get out there. There was a price to pay though, I had made some promises to the Mrs. …and although I like to wait a little further into November to officially do my fall clean up, she had been after me to clean up the leaves from the two previous wind storms. That being said, I spent most of Saturday doing yard-work...I thought several times about running out to get bait, but with that "right after I finish this part of the yard" mentality...it never happened. That's ok though, bait-shop opens at 6am which is fine with me and as long as the yard looks clean, she’ll be happy.
Late Saturday afternoon, the wife tells me we received an invite from some of her family to eat some fire-grilled sardines accompanied by some newly squeezed grapes....Before I could murmur a word, she gave me that look like,.. "you're going fishing tomorrow, it's the least you could do"... I read it, accepted it and smiled, "of course honey, let me finish cleaning up"...which allowed me time to quietly make a couple of calls looking for a mate who'd be ready and willing. After I found one, we discussed the time and place for the following morning and disconnected.
Wife is ready, off we go... :sled: ....30 minutes later, I pull into their driveway and can already smell the stench of sardines,.. like someone set fire to a barrel of skates that had been simmering in the sun all week. To say one has to have an acquired taste for it would not do it enough justice, but with age I’ve grown to enjoy and even crave it at times. Amazing how age can change ones palate. As tradition has it, this oily forage fish was enjoyed with multiple glasses of purple passion, boiled potatoes, Portuguese corn-bread and an incredibly delicious garlic and oil sauce which got ladled over the plate once ready. The other available sides were home-made pickled onions and pickled cucumbers ... I can't explain what that combination does to a man's stomach and intestinal tract, but my wife’s' given me enough bruises to the spinal cord during the night to know it's not good for the person you share your mattress with.
Waking up to yet another elbow to the kidney, I mumbled some expletive, to which she replied,.. "aren't you supposed to go fishing?"...a bit confused as I gained consciousness, I slowly remembered my actions from the night before. Too many sardines, too many pickled onions, and way too many 10oz. curls of wine, not to mention the other toxins that were shot that night. I must have slipped back into my coma though, because ten minutes later she pushed again while making some type of cat sound.. which finally got me up and at em’. It was only as the sheets fell back on to the bed, that I smiled knowing the aromas I'd left behind. My silent retribution for her elbows.
Now in case you’re an amateur, part of doing yard-work is getting your rig ready for an early morning launch, so by keeping a few lawn tools in the wicked ones sight, I was covered on both ends. That makes the morning a little quicker and quieter. Once dressed, there wasn't much to do other than make some java and head out the door, although it wasn't without me hearing my wife angrily whisper, "My God!" as she tossed and turned back in bed resurrecting what I'd left behind…which only got me smiling again as I exited into the darkness.
Once on the road I touched base with my mate, it always pays to make sure they’re at the dock on time as requested,.. if anyone’s going to be late, it’s the captain. It was still dark out as I crossed the bridge but not dark enough to conceal the glimmer of calm waters across the way. It was going to be a good day. Pulling up to the bait store I could see the light in the back-room shining through the shadows as someone was sure to be getting things ready for the day ahead. My dashboard clock displayed 6:07, so I left the cab and headed for the door. Prepared to knock loudly as I've done in the past, I approached the door but was sadly greeted by a sign that read, "Closed for the season"?? :deer: With a deer in the head-lights look on my face and a sudden emptiness in my gut, I gazed towards the light in the shop and realized that it was only on to deter thieves. I was out of luck! Unfortunately, due to the success of the internet, there aren't as many bait shops as there used to be, but fortunately, I still had a couple in my back pocket. I quickly dialed the nearest shop and had someone answer before the first ring ended. Not wasting any time, I asked if they had crabs. “No crabs”, he replied… the wind storms had supposedly kept his suppliers at bay. Knowing the next shop was quite a bit away, I trucked on toward the boat ramp. My mate was already standing outside his truck sipping his coffee, rods resting against the bed while his back-pack sat on the ground. “Good morning”, he said...to which I replied, “Not so much”. After explaining the situation, he googled the nearest shop, which claimed to open at seven and readily agreed to go while I waited at the ramp. Sometime after he left, another boat pulled up…now I normally keep to myself, but in situations like these, I have no shame. As they pulled ahead of me I began walking in their direction and having had seen their window open, I hooted, “Good morning,…you wouldn’t happen to have some extra crabs that I’d gladly pay you double for, would you?”….Unfortunately, they sang the same tune…they too had stopped at that same place and read the bad news. I then mentioned that my friend had gone to another bait shop and that if they waited, we could get them some. Just as they were considering my offer, my phone rang, it was my mate telling me that this second shop no longer existed, it was now an empty store-front,... sadly another closed bait-n-tackle shop. The other fishermen must have heard our conversation because they quickly moved on to the ramp area and began their launch. I could only think of one other place that was sure to be open, problem was… they were even further away. I called ahead to confirm they had some and was told,…”we have some right now”….which meant they didn’t have a lot. I told my mate,…” this day is going to be too good to give up now”,… so he agreed to the road trip and continued on. While calculating his travel time, I remembered that the week before, not 100 yards from the ramp we had fish slapping and slurping the surface chasing baitfish which would never reach adulthood. Pleasantly surprised, they had stripes…all of them did. Contrary to a few weeks ago, when all we could find were small bluefish ranging anywhere from 2 – 5 pounds. This made the decision easy, I was going to launch the boat and jaunt around. It would also serve to test whether the engine would cooperate or not. I had not told this week’s mate that on my last outing we were stranded for a few hours. Seems I continue to suffer from the mystery curse…engine runs great then hibernates for an hour or two and then mysteriously starts up and purrs like a kitten. We actually called SeaTow…but due to remnants of the past storms, we were asked to be patient as it could take a while. Perhaps when they asked if we were anchored and safe, I should have answered differently…but then karma would have gotten me, as it always does. Fortunately, as we passed the second hour…the engine started and ran great for the rest of the day allowing me to cancel the tow.
On this morning, as I allowed the engine to warm, I strung up a couple of rods with artificials. I’m not sure why, but I always feel like yesterday’s fish have nothing better to do than wait for me to return. Well yesterday’s fish were nowhere to be found. It was as if they were punishing me for launching while my mate had the chore of fetching the bait that I should have taken care of the day before. I circled the area blind casting to and fro to no avail. Not a swirl, not a bump…only cold knuckles from the morning frost. I slowly made my way out of the no-wake zone, I just had to open her up. There’s nothing like that feeling…staring at the horizon as the sun first opens its eye, God’s panoramic palette of colors surrounding me like my mother’s loving arms, to the point where I can’t even hear my engine roar three feet behind me. Mike’s words, “Enjoy what you have” whisper in my ear as I get lost in it all…and for that moment, I’m not lost at all..…I’m home.
Now soaring into the open water, reality strikes as I realize that I had forgotten my wind-breaker. With only a t-shirt on underneath, the cold air was penetrating my sweat-jacket like a sponge absorbs water. As I slowly sink behind my center-console, my portagee anger takes over and I stand up straight, I even step left for a full flanking… taking it all in…punishing myself for my forgetfulness. The wind-driven tears roll past my temples as I fight to keep my eyes open ….open until I’ve suffered enough.
After throttling down, I look around the horizon…I’m hoping that my feathered-friends will help in finding some surface-feeding fish. However, they’re circling above.. as if waiting on me to score first or show them a free meal. There still isn’t enough light to show them the pods of baitfish that must surely be in the vicinity slowly migrating south. Just then, my phone chirps…it’s my mate texting me that he’s two minutes away from the ramp. I had lost track of time and had to speed back…as fast as I could, right into the no-wake zone, or at least until I saw the harbor-master hiding between a set of docks. Unsure if he was watching or not, I kindly waved as my wakes subsided,… no flashing lights, I was safe.
Upon reaching the ramp, my mate hopped in as I hopped out, I ran back to the truck to retrieve my jacket so we could get right out to the ledges. During our passage through the no-wake zone I reminded him of our limit and that there would be no culling on my boat. I was so confident that we’d max out, there was no room for doubt.
The next 40 or so minutes felt like an eternity as I was anxious to see the first set of rubber lips go into the fish box. The trip did not start as expected and it continued to disappoint as the first ledge gave up nothing. The second set provided my mate with a couple of shorts while I remained not only fishless, but not even a tap. We skipped from one lair to the next to only come up empty handed. He finally got a keeper in about 40’ of water, but that was the only fish that came out of the cave that day. As I became desperate, we even targeted the more famous spots, sharing our misfortune with a circle of other boats, most of which were also just giving their crabs a bath. It was truly unbelievable, I’ve never moved so much for Tautog, never had to…but as much as I remained diligent, we continued to be unsuccessful. My mate managed one other keeper while I chummed and sipped what was left of my iced-coffee.
With afternoon commitments, I knew our time was almost at hand. I spiked the rod with the crab in one of the holders and grabbed my other rod. It took some time as I’m a stubborn bastard, but I gracefully accepted the fact that today the Tog would win…and that as easy as it normally is to find them, I would have to surrender. We remained anchored on the last reef as I released a crystal minnow into the abyss while he dropped his offerings down below. Within the second cast, a merciful striper raised my brow as it inhaled my minnow and was carefully released back into the ocean after spending a few seconds boat-side. My mate chuckled as I cast again and again…producing yet another small schoolie. He could read it on my face, I was defeated that day. Then on one of my last casts, something happened that I’ve never personally witnessed before…I got a strike, and although I was using light gear…this fish had me struggling, it was a legal-sized striper. He was hooked close to the end of my cast and stayed deep. I fought him right up until he was below the boat…he kept diving down, strong fish he was. As I managed him to the surface, I knew right away…it was game over, time to go home. This fish didn’t have stripes, nor any shades of silver…this fish was a charcoal grey…with rubbery lips. As my partner and I looked at each other in amazement, I knew at that moment…today was a good day after all.